


Through the Fire

by L_autore_Passionale



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Steve and Tony are both struggling, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-11-23 20:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18156866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_autore_Passionale/pseuds/L_autore_Passionale
Summary: He and Tony were the best of friends, once. Then The War happened, and Steve's stay in prison. His assassination came next. When he returned, Steve preferred to keep to himself. What he wanted, however, didn't seem to matter. Struggling with the aftermath of The War, Steve found himself thrust back into the fray by the very same man who had destroyed his life so thoroughly before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are no spoilers for the movie Captain America: Civil War in this story. I did some research in the comic-verse and then took that information as a loose prompt/background for this story.

**_Through the Fire: Part 1_ **

Before The War, Steve and Tony had been the best of friends. Brothers, really. Then the government had decided to get involved where it shouldn't have, prying into the personal lives of each superhero. The prejudice was a long time coming, something Steve and the team (Steve and Tony) had discussed at length: advantages and disadvantages, suggesting the moves they could make when the government decided on which path to take… The one thing Steve had been sure of was the support of his team. The Avengers would be on the front line as legislation came through, and it was important they be on the same side. He and Tony, as the leaders of the team, needed to be on the same page. And they were.

Or at least, Steve had thought they were. And then, Tony had disappeared for a while, not returning any phone calls or emails from the team. When he had reemerged, he had brought the SRA with him.

The War followed then, immediately chased by a stay in prison for Steve.

His assassination had come next.

Tony's betrayal had led to a pain nothing could ever be compared to. All of that time spent fighting together to protect their country and the world, all of that time spent as a team and a family, eating together, living in the same building; all of the movie nights and getting Steve caught up on the 21st century; all of that time as  _brothers,_ and it had been thrown away. Unable to reach a compromise, Tony defensive and unwilling to see another way until it was too late, Steve had been forced into taking drastic steps, which had led to the final fight.

"So will you help?"

Steve gritted his teeth, hands clenching slowly into fists. Tony wasn't looking at him, too focused on the phone in his hands, and Steve bitterly realized Tony was the big man on campus now. Even more so than he had been as a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.

"Let me get this right," Steve said quietly, a layer of anger not hidden in the soft tone. "After everything you did to me, you want me to help you?"

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes, tapping furiously away at his phone. "No. I want you to help  _America,_ Captain America. Isn't that, like, in your job title?" he smirked.

Steve took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "No. I won't."

His former best friend looked up from the phone, then, his eyebrow cocked. "Wow. You just turned your back on your first love, there, Steve."

"It's Captain Rogers, Stark," Steve bit off, and Tony shot back, "Director _,_ if you don't mind,  _Captain_."

"Ah, yes. How could I forget? They told me you'd been promoted. The prison guards made sure to tell me in between their attempts at brainwashing me."

Tony's eyes blazed in fury, but the emotion was gone in the next instant, his face impressively blank. "Okay, friendly request over. You will help; you don't have a choice." When Steve made to argue, Tony waved his hand. "You help, or that little prison cell you got used to will be your home again."

Steve's chin shot up in surprise, his only outward reaction to the words. Inwardly, his heart was pounding in anger and the slightest twinge of fear. Tony pulled a manila folder out of the bag on his shoulder and dropped it on the floor in front of Steve.

"There will be a car waiting for you at the trailhead tomorrow at 0700. Try to run and I'll find you and throw you back in prison myself. I expect a full debriefing when you're finished,  _Cap."_

Steve didn't move for several minutes after Tony left him alone. His little cabin in the mountains, abandoned and crumbling into ruin when he'd stumbled across it, had started to feel cozy as he slowly brought it back to life, (though not like home; the Avenger's Tower had felt like home in a way only the apartment he'd shared with his mother had). Now it felt alien and empty and claustrophobic. The safety and anonymity he'd thought he had, had been broken by Tony's unexpected visit.

He'd thought he was safe. He was wrong.

His eyes slid shut as he weighed his lack of options, and with a sigh, he bent over to grab the folder. Looked like he had a mission tomorrow.

…

Before The War, Steve had spent many of his afternoons sketching on a couch in a corner of Tony's workshop. While the technology had never failed to astound him, from the smallest robot to the holographic screens, the space had been comfortable to him. Late one night, the rest of the team asleep on the couches in the living room after their latest movie marathon, Tony had confessed he felt more comfortable in his workshop than he did in his opulent offices at S.I., something Steve had already noticed during his time in the workshop with his friend. The only time the man truly relaxed was when he was with Pepper, with his team, or dressed in the grungiest clothes he could find and working in his 'shop.

" _Physical comfort is one thing," Tony said_.  _"In that case, give me the best couch and chairs money can buy. Hell, if it's for a business meeting and I'm trying to intimidate the competition, the fancier the better, you know? But I don't care for that crap except for those instances._

" _I feel better when my hands are stained with grease," he said softly, swirling a tumbler full of scotch and leaning against his workbench. He wasn't drunk, but the few drinks he'd had that night combined with the late hour to make Tony a little more honest than he would be normally._

" _One of the only times I feel like I can breathe," Steve returned, "is when I have a pencil in my hand and a sketch pad in the other. I'd rather my hands be stained with charcoal than blood, but that doesn't always happen." His lips quirked up in a sad smile as Tony came over and settled on the couch beside him._

" _No, it doesn't, does it?" his friend asked, leaning into Steve's shoulder as he stared down into his glass._

Steve wondered idly, as he studied Tony's fancy S.H.I.E.L.D. office, if the man's tastes had changed or if he was simply trying to be intimidating. Honestly, the soldier wasn't intimidated—uncomfortable, but nothing else. Funny what death did to a person.

"I expected you back three days ago," Tony said, reading over the file Steve had brought him and looking right at home amidst the lavish furnishings of his office. "Getting rusty there, Captain?"

"You have my file. Are we finished, Stark?"

"Director," Tony corrected, and Steve stood from the chair he'd taken a seat in without Tony's permission. He put his fists on the desk and leaned towards the other man, the desk creaking ominously as he exerted pressure on it.

"Oh, you'll only ever be Stark to me," he said lightly and gave a shrug as he turned away. He was almost to the door when Tony spoke again.

"I didn't want you to go to prison."

Steve didn't turn to face the other man, but he did turn his head until he could see Tony out of the corner of his eye. "Yes, you did. We've never lied to each other before. Why start now?"

Tony didn't stop him from leaving after that.

Three months and two states later (the cabin had been left behind in Steve's efforts to outrun—to  _lose—_ Tony), Tony caught up to him again. He tossed a file on the front step and crossed his arms.

"I'm not working for you," Steve said. He felt a phantom pain in his chest over his heart and rubbed it absently.

The other man snorted, eyes flashing down to Steve's hand and back up to his face. "Believe what you want to, old man. You want to stay free, you do what I tell you."

Steve stooped over to grab the folder when Tony turned away, and he leafed through the papers. Stark was halfway down the driveway when Steve spoke. "Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, extortionist. Such personal growth, old friend. I bet Pepper's proud."

He caught a reflection on his screen door of Tony's frozen figure when he went into the house.

He paid for his quip six days later when the mission went sideways—Steve getting the information easily, but coming out dirty—and extraction was nowhere close enough to pick him up like they should have been.

"We're three hours out," the cool voice in his ear said, and Steve laughed as he ran. Laughed because there was a bullet wound in his thigh and one in his shoulder, two inches away from where he'd been shot fatally all those months ago. "What's your condition?" The voice was detached, and Steve missed Coulson's steady tone that did nothing to hide his worry when one of his agents was wounded. He always seemed to know when one of them was hurt without them even telling him.

Steve's leg gave out, and he landed hard on the injury, crying out before his vision went dark for several precious seconds. His pursuers were much closer than he felt comfortable with when he regained awareness, and he rolled to a standing position, trying to keep his weight off the leg. There were voices yelling in his ear (one of them familiar—smug, haughty, but worried now), that were nothing more than background noise as he tried to find an escape route. He ducked into a side alley and half limped, half ran as fast as he could.

It was a haze of pain after that, Steve moving blindly through the city during the night, trying to stay ahead of the men chasing him and searching for a spot to hole up in. He lost his earpiece somewhere along the way, only noticing when the lack of buzzing voices registered as a silence that meant he was alone. He didn't know how long it took his extraction team to find him, but when they finally did, Steve had found a place to hide long enough to dig out the bullet in his leg by himself and try to stop the bleeding. He was marginally successful, but still unconscious from the pain when he was finally found.

He woke up in a hospital room on the helicarrier, alone. The wounds on his chest and leg were an angry red, and he blanched from the pain as he sat up and swung his legs out of bed. He shouldn't move yet, was nowhere near healed enough to leave, but he needed to go. Limping to the door, he reached out to open it, only to find it locked. He swung around to take in the small room and focused on the camera in the corner of the ceiling.

"You can't keep me here," he said, fighting to keep calm. The room was small and blindingly bright, bringing back memories from his time in the prison that he would rather forget. "Let me out."

Nothing happened, and he fought to keep his breathing steady, despite how it felt like the walls were closing in on him.

_Pain through his whole body. Agony from a betrayal he never saw coming, pain from men who had him at their mercy. Threats of a trial that would tell whether his fate was life or death…_

_And all of that after he had surrendered to save a friend and the city._

"You can't keep me here," he repeated, voice snapping across the room. His face flushed with anger and fear; his body coiled like a spring at the threat.  _"Tony!"_

The door unlocked with a click, and Steve turned and fled the room before whoever set him free could change their mind. He waited near the back hatch until they landed and opened the ramp, where he exited onto the base and escaped before he could be detained again.

…

It was strange, to think that so much had changed with his life. Born in the twenties, living through the Great Depression and World War II, he'd now fought in two wars and both had ended with him losing his life in some way. He sat on the ground in front of the headstone, tracing the words with one finger.

_Peggy Carter_

_Fiery. Feisty. Beloved._

_1919-2017._

He'd lost her when he was in the prison, one month before he'd been shot. He hadn't cared what they'd decided to do to him from that point on, drowning in sorrow and misery.

"I paid for her headstone."

Steve's smile was grim, a tense lifting of his lips. "How kind. Did you pay for her funeral, too? I wish I could have attended, but I was a little tied up at the time. Did she…did she ask for me? Did you comfort her after you told her I was in prison?  _Did you tell her you were the one to put me there?"_

Chest heaving with his emotions, he'd pushed to his feet to loom over Tony before he'd even realized it, yelling at the other man. Agents stepped out of their hiding spots at the perceived threat to their director, guns at the ready. Tony waved them away, even as Steve noticed the way his eyes were widened in surprise.

"You knew. You knew what my greatest fear was, Tony. To lose my life again and wake up in another time. To have my life  _taken_  again. You promised me you wouldn't let that happen. We were a  _family,_ you said," Steve's hands were fisted in Tony's shirt, crinkling the material. He shook once, twice. "You would do everything you could to protect me, because that was what a family did. I thought you had my back like I had yours, but it was  _you!_ This time, it was _you_ who took it from me!" He let go and stumbled back a step, ever mindful of Peggy's gravestone behind him.

He wouldn't desecrate her resting place for anything.

He ran his hands through his hair, gripping the strands tightly as he spun away from Tony. "It was you," he whispered. He stood still for a moment before he kissed his palm and rested it against Peggy's headstone, straightening after he spoke a few soft words.  _"You'll always be my favorite dame."_  Standing at attention, he snapped his hand up in a salute at Peggy's headstone and lowered it slowly.

When he walked beneath one of the weeping willows near the entrance to the cemetery, his eyes snapped up to meet Hawkeye's gaze. "It's not worth it," he mouthed to the archer, whose arrow was pointed straight at Tony's heart. "He knows you're there."

…

_He could have gotten the hit in. There was no doubt. Tony—no, Iron Man—was limp beneath him, the face shield lifted so Steve could look him in the eye. The other man was done; he was finished. The battle was still going, and Steve's arm was poised for one last punch that he couldn't take._

_This was Tony. The man who had helped him fit back into the world, the man who'd opened his tower for all of them to live in. Tony, with his sharp wit and hidden emotions, who cared too much and tried to push everyone away. His best friend. Tony._

_He knew the other supers were sneaking up on him, and he let them. The city was being destroyed and taking Iron Man out of the battle wouldn't stop that or keep Tony safe. Steve surrendering would._

_Always able to read him, Tony's mouth parted in shock. "Steve…"_

_He never finished whatever it was he wanted to say, if anything. The protest was a token one, Steve could tell. He let go of Tony and backed up a step, holding his hands up at the supers heading towards him. He jerked his head at his allies, his new friends, an order for them to flee._

_It started as whispers and grew._

" _He surrendered. Captain America surrendered. It's over. He surrendered, he surrendered, he surrendered…"_

_Tony—no, Iron Man—took him into custody. And Crossbones killed him on his way to his trial._

Steve woke with a gasp as he felt the bullet enter his chest.

"I tried to get you out," Clint said, and Steve flinched at the unexpected words. He found Hawkeye in a dark corner of the bedroom of his new apartment, spinning an arrow between his fingers. "I tried, but there was nothing I could do."

Steve nodded slowly, quirking his lips in a small, genuine smile. "I didn't doubt that, Hawkeye. Thank you."

The archer nodded, and Steve knew he had a question, could tell by the way the man's fingers tightened around the arrow, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched.

"What is it, Clint?"

"You've helped him. Twice now."

The  _why_ went unasked, but Steve heard it nonetheless. He lowered his head for one long moment, shoulders slumped. "He found me. It doesn't matter how off the grid I am; he's found me twice. Told me I had to help him or he would throw me back into the prison."

The arrow was moving quicker now, a tell for Clint's agitation.

"I was there for a year, Clint, and I…"

"Yeah," the agent said. There was silence for a few moments, and then Clint said carefully, "You should…have you been back to the prison? Since you woke up?"

"No," his answer whipped between the space between them. Why would he go back to the place of his nightmares?

A beat, as Clint pursed his lips, and then, "I know you don't want to go back, but there's something you should—"

"No." Final and absolute, Steve shook his head and crossed his arms.

"At least consider it, okay?" He winced when Steve's expression darkened and held up a hand. "Word on the street is Stark cleaned up the organization. Turns out S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised. Apparently, he threw one of the biggest bitch fits when he found out several of the higher-ups were double agents for the Red Skull. They doctored some of the information they gave Stark about you and your actions during The War to manipulate him. The man who killed you—Crossbones. He was working for Big Red, too."

Steve's fingers were trembling, a shake that slowly started to travel up his arms at the memory of the bullet entering his chest.

"I still can't…reconcile Stark… _Tony…_ with the man who fought us and did that to you."

Steve huffed a sad laugh. "Neither can I."

There was more than one side in a battle, each fighting for what they believed was right. Steve would never begrudge anyone their opinion, so long as no one was being hurt. Heck, that was what was so special about this country—each citizen had the right to believe what he or she wanted. They had rights they took for granted. Too bad those rights hadn't translated to those who helped  _defend_  the country.

He'd been punished and been made an example. Captain America had been made an example of, in and by America.

"There's a group," Clint said slowly, and Steve shook his head.

"I'm tired, Clint. I'm sorry, but I am so…so tired. I'm an old man," he said with a crooked smile that he knew didn't reach his eyes. He'd heard of the group, and he was proud of the other man. Proud that Hawkeye—who had been dragged into the Avengers when Loki had twisted his mind, who had given himself wholeheartedly to the team—had taken the values of the Avengers to heart and fought with another group modeled after his first team. Steve was done, though. "I can't fight another war."

Clint nodded once and stood from his slouched position. Walking towards Steve, he held out a hand for him to shake, and Steve took it immediately. "If you ever need anything, you let me know. I'll drop by when things aren't so tense," he said, and Steve knew he was referring to the situation between Tony and S.H.I.E.L.D. and the group Clint worked with now.

"Make sure you do," Steve said, smile real for the second time that night. It had been so  _long_  since he'd smiled so much. "Stay safe, friend."

"Back at ya, Cap." He gave a two-fingered salute and melted into the shadows.

Glancing at the clock on his bedside table, Steve groaned when he saw it was only 1:30 in the morning. He pushed to his feet and grabbed his sweats, feeling the urge to go for a jog. It wasn't like he'd be able to fall back asleep after the nightmare or Clint's visit, after all.

…

Two weeks later, Steve found himself facing down five cyborg giants and rapidly tiring. Whoever the inventor was had obviously kept some of the city's defenders in mind, because the darn things were nearly indestructible.

He stumbled back a step when one landed a blow to his side, leaning over and wheezing around the broken ribs. Oh, that  _hurt._

The familiar whine of repulsors was unexpected and brought back a flood of memories that stole his breath as much as the hit to his ribs had.

"Duck, Cap."

Steve ducked without a thought, and Iron Man fired his lasers at the machines. They sliced in half with a heavy clang of metal and snapping circuits, and Steve sighed in relief.

"I totally saved your ass," Tony mocked, and Steve shook his head.

"Shut up, Tony," he muttered, and it was so  _familiar._ They'd fought side by side and back to back so many times, bickering all the while. They'd read each other's actions and often didn't need to say anything before they were on the same page. Tony was his second in command. "Why are you out here, anyways? Aren't you too valuable a resource for S.H.I.E.L.D. to send on missions?"

"Aw, don't be such a Grumpy Gus, Cap! Besides, sometimes I need to stretch my legs a little. You can't keep me on the sidelines for long," he said as he leaned casually against the building behind him. "And hey, who designed your new outfit because…actually it's not bad, I like the black, but what happened to the stars and stripes? Kinda part of the whole identity, isn't it? The mask isn't really necessary anymore, either, right?"

"You made sure of that, didn't you, Tony? Made sure my identity was well-known to the public. My own desires meant nothing to you, did they? I never wanted recognition or people to know who I was. I just wanted to do my  _duty."_

"We go round and round in circles, Steve, but that's as far as we go. Besides, the past is the past, Cap! You've got to learn to let go."

The daggers Steve had been turning over and over in his hands landed with a thud in the wall behind Tony, one close to his head, the other near his arm.

"I fell asleep under the ice. When I woke up, I didn't regret my choices even as I mourned what I lost," he said. "I died when I gave up my freedom to save you. I both mourn and regret that choice."

He left without retrieving his daggers, hunched over with his arm cradling his side and breathing slowly and carefully through the pain and the moisture that filled his eyes.

…

It had taken Tony three months to come back with another mission, which he'd all but thrown at Steve's feet.

"Be ready in two hours," he'd ordered and was gone before Steve could answer.

Breath hitching as he was chained to the wall, Steve couldn't help but curse Tony for dragging him into a lifestyle he was so tired of. Believing in a cause was one thing; being blackmailed was another, and Steve was so tired. So tired and so alone. He struggled, but the chains were the same type as the ones that had held him captive in the prison and therefore impervious to his strength.

He wasn't going to be getting out of these unless the guards let him go or Tony sent someone in after him. Either option was extremely unlikely. The guards lashed out with their knives, even though Steve wasn't fighting them anymore, and he accepted they would be taking their anger out on him. He'd done more than a little damage to their compound.

If he made it appear as though he was trying to escape, however…maybe they'd get tired of trying to contain him and whoever was in charge there would give the guards permission to finish it. Death was anything but permanent for him, but at least it was a break from reality.

Maybe once he woke from it again, enough time would have passed that no one would remember his name.

…

He hadn't been killed. When he woke up in the hospital room, Stark was sitting in a chair by his bed and working on his phone.

"That's two times, Rogers. Let's not make a habit of this, or I'll throw you back in prison just to keep you in one piece, got it?" He stood, brushed his hands down his suit to take out the wrinkles, and left.

…

Four states later and Pepper's eyes lit up when she caught sight of him. She strode across her office to enfold him in a hug, and Steve let out a long sigh of relief.

"Hey, Pepper," he said softly, and her arms tightened around him.

"Steve," she breathed, and Steve lowered his head until it rested against her shoulder. He was shaking again, his fingers trembling, his breath shuddering.

_He'd been in another war, he'd been betrayed by his best friend, he'd been killed and had to dig himself out of his own_ _grave_ _._

"It's okay, sweetie. You're safe here," she crooned, and he burrowed his face in her neck.

She held him while he let go—the emotions he'd hidden and ignored, that had festered for all of that time he'd been held a prisoner after The War; the pain;  _all_ of it. She carded her fingers through his hair and rubbed her hand up and down his back in soothing motions.

"I was wondering when I'd see you," she said when he finally got a hold of himself. She swiped her fingers beneath her eyes to dry her tears while Steve ran a hand down his face to wipe it clean.

"You…you knew?" he asked in surprise.

Pepper nodded and leaned back against her desk. "I've seen Tony three times since we decided to go our own ways. The first time was at the courthouse for your trial, the second was at your funeral, and the third was when he  _had_  to tell me in person you were alive, and he had found you."

It hadn't been easy for her, Steve knew, not picking Tony's side. She loved the man, but didn't agree with his stance, and as such, she'd told him she couldn't stay with him.

"So you two haven't…" he trailed off, and she shook her head.

"It's too fresh," she said. "He was so stubborn, and so many people were being hurt. If you two had been able to work together, can you imagine how it would have gone?"

Steve pressed his lips together, hands on his hips. "I offered, Pepper. You know I did."

"I know. He's just…he's so  _stubborn_ —"

And then there was the time Tony had wanted to meet at his parents' old mansion and tried to tell Steve something that Steve wouldn't listen to. He  _couldn't_ listen. At that point, he'd been so angry and hurt, he'd been deaf to whatever Tony was trying to tell him. "No offense, but I…I really don't want to talk about Tony," he said, his voice tight.

"He was devastated, at your funeral," she said, and Steve spun around to pace the room. "I've never seen him like that before."

"Pepper, please," he pleaded, and she held her hands up.

"Okay. Okay," she said and cocked her head at him. "When's the last time you had a good meal?" she asked, shaking her head and reaching for her phone.

"I've eaten," he said defensively and then ducked his head when she leveled a glare at him. His lips twitched in a grin—he'd missed her. Missed her and her mothering and quick wit and love. She'd taken the Avengers under her wing, and The War had been so difficult for her. She loved each of them, and they hadn't stuck together as a team.

"I'm ordering lunch. You're eating it— _all_ of it—and then as soon as I finish up the report I was working on, we're leaving, and you're going to spend the night in one of my guest rooms."

"Yes ma'am," he laughed, smiling fondly at her.

For the first time in a long time, he felt comfortable. Comfortable enough that that evening, leaning against the doorframe into her kitchen and watching her cook, he made a confession. "Tony asked me to work for him."

The knife she'd been using to dice the tomatoes came to a stop, and she glanced back at him, expression curious. "And what did you say?"

He crossed his arms, his fingers drumming against his bicep. "He didn't give me a choice."

She was angry now, filling in the blanks. "What did he threaten you with?" She'd resumed cutting up the tomatoes, but the knife was moving harder and sharper.

"He told me he'd throw me into prison if I didn't agree."

Pepper swore and slammed the blade down. "I'm going to kill the moron."

Licking his lips, Steve met Pepper's angry gaze with wide eyes. "There are still pockets of resistance out there that want to keep their identities a secret."

"Steve," Pepper started, but he continued.

"I don't want to fight anymore, Pepper, don't worry. But maybe…maybe this time… He's forcing me to work for him, but maybe I can try and sway him to let us have a choice. It's America, Pepper. Why can't we have a choice? I've given  _everything_  for this country.  _Why can't I have a choice_?"

Pepper wiped her hands on a towel as she walked over to Steve, blinking against the tears in her eyes. She rested her hand against his cheek and smiled sadly, an expression that made his heart ache. "I don't know, sweetheart. I don't know."

…

Pepper was two months and seven states earlier when Tony came to him again. He held a folder in his hands and stared at Steve, a strange look in his eyes.

"Love what you've done with the place," he said, and Steve pushed the newspapers from his legs and stood, leaning against the dumpster he'd been sleeping by.

He shrugged, unconcerned. "I figured if I keep making it difficult to find me, you won't come looking anymore."

The other man bounced on his toes as he continued to study Steve. "Did you mean what you said during the fight with the robo-giants? Not that I care or anything, but it would be good to know where you stand. You make my minions very nervous when you get angry, and that's not something they've had to worry about since Brucie-boo's wild days."

"Is…how is Bruce? I haven't seen him since The War broke out."

Tony waved his hand carelessly. "Fine. He's off in Austria right now, running experiments and inventing cool things. You know him. Now answer my question."

It was odd, to have this conversation in an alleyway in Indianapolis. The sound of traffic rushing by and passersby talking was almost muted beyond this little bubble that was Steve and Tony.

"I surrendered so I wouldn't hurt you anymore. I surrendered so the city wouldn't be destroyed any more than it had already been. And when that happened, you handed me over to the authorities to be  _reeducated,"_ he emphasized the word. "For a year, they tried, and then when my trial came up, I was murdered. I lost everything, just to save you."

Steve turned to pace the alleyway. "For so long, when I was…when I was in that prison, I thought,  _Tony_. Tony will realize what's happening. He'll know this isn't right—we were friends, once. He'll get me out. Surely he wouldn't let them continue to brainwash me if he  _knew._ And then, when they were dragging me back to my cell and I said as much, one of the guards just laughed at me. 'You don't think he knows?' the guard said. 'He  _knows._ He  _ordered_ us to do this. Why do you think you're still here?'"

"I didn't!" Tony protested, and Steve talked over him.

"Over and over they told me it was your orders that kept me there. You had a year to try and break me, Tony. So forgive me if I regret backing away from taking you out of that last fight!"

"I didn't know!" Tony yelled, pulling at Steve's shoulder until he came to a stop.

Both men were breathing heavily and flushed with anger. Steve deliberately took a step away, the urge to punch the other man too strong to tempt fate by standing too close.

"I didn't know what they were doing, I  _didn't,_ but as soon as I found out, I arrested those guards and replaced them with new ones. With men I trusted to keep you safe. It wasn't soon enough, and I'm sorry, but as soon as I knew, I did something about it!"

A moment, as Steve remembered the new guards—the new guards who'd been there the  _week_ before the trial.

"You're telling me," Steve said, nose flaring as he fought to control his breathing, "that you only found out about that a week before my trial? You're telling me it took the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. a year to realize something was  _wrong_?!"

He turned and let his fist fly, not even blinking when his hand went through the dumpster bin in his anger.

"The organization was compromised," Tony said after the silence had stretched between them. People were walking by the mouth of the alleyway still, laughing and joking, arguing and debating; vehicles were honking, and a motorcycle revved nearby. The backdrop of noise almost covered the words Tony was speaking, as the man's voice grew quieter with the confession. "It was compromised, and the men hurting you were double agents who answered to Schmidt. I threw them in a hole so deep they won't see the sun again." His smile was wolfish, but Steve, who had turned back to watch Tony speak, saw something like guilt in the other man's eyes.

Guilt over how he had failed Steve, maybe? Guilt over how he had been too late to save his former best friend? Guilt over fighting him in the first place?

Tony fidgeted while Steve continued to study him and finally held out the folder to Steve. Steve only hesitated a few seconds before he took it from him.

"Try not to get shot this time, will you, or break any bones, or, God forbid, get captured by the bad guys? You can't imagine the paperwork I have to fill out when that happens," was the other man's parting shot as he strode away.

…

"You should be ashamed," Steve panted, dodging a bullet as it flew towards his head.

"I'm sorry, Captain?" came the cool voice in his ear, detached as always, and Steve shook his head. Dodging behind a short wall, he paused for a moment to catch his breath.

"You…are a horrible handler," he said, putting a new clip of ammo into his pistol and wishing he could still carry his shield. Maybe if he painted it—it was simply too recognizable and he wasn't ready to resume his not-so-secret identity anymore—but then, he'd have to break it out of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s compound, and Steve wasn't sure he really wanted to go to all that trouble.

When another bullet narrowly missed his head, he found himself drafting plans to get it back.

"I told you there were guards ahead of you," the voice shot back with a slight twinge of irritation.

" _Guards_  implies lightly trained men and women with guns." Steve threw himself forward, tucking into a roll when the wall he had previously been taking shelter behind exploded when it was hit by a rocket. "These are  _soldiers_ with access to rocket launchers and tanks!"

"Captain, I fail to see—"

"Put someone on the comm who knows what the hell they're doing! Stark! You want me to do this, you give me somebody who isn't actively trying to kill me!"

"Sir, I don't—"

"Shut up, Harrison. Go get an iced latte or something and leave this to the big boys to handle."

Steve's reaction to hearing Tony's voice in his ear was, to his chagrin, relief, but at least it was tinged with irritation. "You could have intervened on your own," he grumbled, sprinting down the tarmac and jumping on the nearest tank. He could hear the men inside talking loudly and frantically, and he worked quickly to get inside and put the tank out of commission.

"I feel the constant need to remind you of how I have an organization to lead," Tony replied, a faint tilt of humor in his voice.

"And whose fault is that?" Steve shot back.

"Touché, Cap. Okay, incoming on your left—five heavily armed soldiers with rocket launchers and pistols, and wow, one of them looks scarily like the Rock," Stark said, mixing his unique brand of humor with business as effortlessly as Steve remembered.

"A rock?" Steve frowned, swinging around to meet the men. He disabled them with little difficulty, Tony's voice a horror-filled ramble in the background.

" _A_ rock?  _A_ rock?! Oh my god, did you backslide that much?  _The_  Rock. He's a…you know what, I'm ordering my minions to make you a packet. You will be debriefed on him as soon as you're back in America. 'A rock,' he asks," Tony muttered, before he told Steve to take a right and enter the building through the door he'd just remotely unlocked for him.

Needless to say, the mission went much smoother than the previous ones where Harrison was relaying the information and watching over him.

That didn't mean Steve trusted Stark or had forgiven him. He didn't; but at least the mission had ended with him only receiving minor injuries.

…

_Arms in handcuffs behind his back, ankles chained together, he shuffled to the courthouse between an attachment of six guards, three on his left and three on his right. He'd been given a suit, at least, complete with a red, white, and blue tie, but his dignity had been stripped by the paparazzi as they took picture after picture of him being led out of the van and up to the courthouse like a common criminal._

_Setting his jaw and holding his chin up, he did his best not to stumble as the guards set a pace that was a little too fast for the chains. He still tripped when they reached the curb, and one of the men reached out to steady him, calling for the others to slow._

_When they reached the stairs, Steve sighed, taking in the steep steps he had to climb to reach the courthouse. He caught sight of a familiar face while he looked up and felt his expression harden. Of course Tony had chosen to come see his trial. There was a splash of red to his right, and he turned his head to see Pepper, a mixture of sympathy and compassion on her face as she watched him struggle to climb the stairs._

_He turned his face away, ashamed she was seeing him like this, that the whole world was seeing him like this. His cheeks were heated in a perpetual blush of embarrassment and anger, and he deliberately took several slow, deep breaths._

_America was choosing to make an example of him today, and he would do nothing but be the example Peggy and Colonel Phillips and Bucky and his Howling Commandos would expect him to be. Lifting his eyes from his feet once more, he caught a flash of light from the rooftop. He frowned in confusion and swept his eyes across the roof in search of what had created the reflection._

_He saw the sniper at the same time he heard the gunshot._

_A bullet ripped through his chest, hitting his heart, as screams rang out. Crossbones grinned, and Steve fell backwards and slid down the stairs at the impact. He came to a rest upside down on the steps and blinked in surprise once, twice._

_It was a beautiful day. A true blue sky with fluffy white clouds, the kind he and his mother would stare at for hours and point out shapes in._

_There were more gunshots, but he ignored them, feeling a smile stretch his lips as he watched the clouds drift across the sky. He blinked again, slower, longer. The guards filled his vision, and then Tony and Pepper, and he looked at the two of them before his eyes slid closed and refused to open again._

_He could feel someone (Tony) putting pressure on his chest, before it all slipped away. Tony was too late._

_Steve was already gone._

"Captain Rogers?" Someone shook his shoulder, and Steve woke with a start. "We're back," the young agent in front of him said.

Steve rubbed a hand up and down his face to clear the fog of sleep and stood to follow the agent to Tony's office for the debriefing. Like it always did when he entered the building, his skin crawled at the lines that had been crossed during The War by both S.H.I.E.L.D. and the rebellion Steve had led. War was never perfect. Soldiers followed orders and sometimes took liberties they shouldn't.

Tactics weren't always black and white.

Steve hadn't been blameless in The War. He'd done things he regretted, things that had hurt Tony. Steve knew that, and yes, surrendering in that final battle had been an effort to try and make up for what he'd done. He'd never thought his surrendering would result in his attempted "reeducation" and death, however.

Walking into S.H.I.E.L.D. reminded him of everything he had lost. Friends. Family. A home.

When he entered Tony's office, the man fanned out five folders on his desk. "Take them, look 'em over, and let me know which one you want. Handlers," he said when Steve made a questioning noise. "They're the best of the best. Whichever one you want."

"You seem to forget I don't work for you. You blackmailed me into taking jobs, but I don't work for you," Steve said, shoving the files back towards Tony.

The other man leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his chest. "And while you are my blackmailee, you deserve the best handler I can get for you. Honestly, it's a matter of pride now. Harrison was pathetic. He let his feelings, or lack thereof, get in the way of keeping you safe and informed. Choose one, Cap."

His eyes closed. "I lost every shred of dignity I had when I got out of that van in the handcuffs and leg irons. Now, you persist in lording yourself over me by forcing me to work for you," Steve said softly. He gestured to the files, refusing to look at Tony's face and see what reaction his words had caused. "I don't want them. You want me to have the best, I want Coulson."

The chair squeaked as Tony sat up straight. "Steve, he won't—"

"I want him. You can't get him, you might as well send me with Harrison again, because those other options will be just as incompetent in comparison to Agent Coulson."

Coulson didn't work at S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore, Steve knew, hadn't since The War had broken out. He, of all people, had known the importance of discretion for his agents, let alone the necessity that a superhero not be unmasked as it could compromise the super's life or mission. From what Pepper had explained, Coulson and Tony had teamed up shortly after Steve's death to finish cleaning up the agency and get rid of Red Skull's double agents. As soon as that had been finished, Coulson had summarily warned Tony against following him or tracking him and had left to work with Clint and his group.

"Oh, and if you do manage to get him, he's free to leave when he's done with each mission. You don't force him into anything, and you don't follow or try to track him when he leaves. Plus, you fill his requests, whatever they are, within reason. He's a free agent, got it, Stark?"

"Director."

"You'll be a director when you do the right thing," Steve said. "Do you agree to the terms?"

"And what is the 'right thing'?" Tony emphasized the last two words. When Steve continued to stare at him, he scowled and rolled his eyes. "Fine. I agree."

It was to Steve's surprise, disbelief, and absolute relief that the voice that greeted him in his comm on the next mission was the competent, calm, assured voice of the Avengers' former handler.

"Hello, Captain Rogers."

"Agent Coulson," he said with a grin. "Been awhile."

The other man huffed a laugh. "You don't play by the rules, do you, Cap? You not only survive being thawed, but you come back to life after being  _shot,_  and then you get Tony to agree to requesting me as your handler."

"You are the best," Steve said sincerely. "Please tell me Harrison wasn't one of your interns before you left," he couldn't help but tease.

There was a moment where Steve knew Phil was twisting his mouth in disgust before he answered. "I was planning on reassigning him, but never got a chance to. My apologies you had to deal with his incompetency. Your drop-off location is approaching. 50 seconds."

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this, Phil," he confessed as he stood and slowly made his way to the door.

"Honestly, I'm glad. You need somebody in your corner, and I'm honored you chose me. 30 seconds."

Steve braced himself in the doorway as he stared at the landscape so far below him, his heart pumping faster in preparation for the jump. "Yes, but—"

"No. We've always been a team. By the way, Widow gave Hawkeye a black eye when she found out he visited you without her. She's doing fine, by the way. 15 seconds."

Steve gave a fond grin. "I worried about her the least. It's Widow, after all."

"I'd expect a visit from her soon. Five seconds. Four, three, two."

"Here we go," Steve whispered and launched himself out of the plane.

…

There was something about Brooklyn that always called him back. It could have been how familiar it felt, even as it was so different from what he remembered before he fought in WWII. It could have been him searching for that sense of  _home_ , fleeting though it may be. Whatever it was, he always made a point to spend time in the city when he was in the area.

There was this little art store, a place that had been there since he was a child, and he'd been so thrilled, after his almost 70 years "nap," to find the store still open. Even more of a relief, it had still been open after The War and his subsequent death. On this visit, he'd already grabbed the sketchbooks and pencils he preferred, but he still wandered the store, wishing he had a place that was his so he could try a few ideas he had for larger art projects. That canvas in the corner would be perfect for a painting of his cabin in the woods, but he had no way to carry a 9x5 canvas with him. He had no place he could call home to work on it or display the finished product.

"You could just choose to live with us, Cap. That would solve the problem," came a voice from beside him, and Steve shook his head as he wrapped an arm around Natasha's shoulders. She'd been trailing him since before he'd entered the store, her movements deliberately obvious enough to give him a warning of her presence.

He didn't need to ask how she knew what he was thinking—Natasha had always been adept at reading the team and, in particular, him.

"It might solve one problem, but it'll create a whole slew of others," he said, turning his head to look down at her. She leaned up to kiss his cheek, eyes narrowed in concern as she looked him over.

"You want me to hurt Stark? I've been tracking his whereabouts."

At that, Steve huffed in amusement. He pulled her closer, gaze falling back on the canvas he'd been tempted by the last two times he'd visited the shop. "Let's go," he said, tugging her to the cashier and then out the door.

"There's this café over on Third Avenue that went in a few months ago. I've been thinking about trying it. You game?" she asked, slipping her arm around his waist as he wrapped his arm back around her shoulders.

He was, and they spent the afternoon talking and eating and, in his case, sketching. He started filling his new book first with a picture of Natasha's smile and then the café they were visiting. He continued to sketch after she left, the next page filled with Hawkeye slouching against the wall of Steve's apartment, arrow in hand, and then he drew a picture of what he imagined Coulson had looked like when Steve had brought up his delinquent intern. Pepper, cooking for him in her home.

Tony in the alley, eyes wide in horror as he denied knowing about the guards' treatment of Steve until it was too late.

…

"Captain, pull out! Now!" Coulson yelled, and Steve winced even as he ducked low.

"What's the situation?" he snapped as he spun around and made for the doorway he'd just come through. Before he could take more than two steps towards it, a heavy metal door slammed into place, locking him inside. "Son of a gun! Coulson! I'm locked in!"

He turned to study the rest of the room, looking in vain for another exit. That was when the sirens started, and Steve flinched at the noise. Static filled his earpiece, and then one word came through, clear as a bell.

"Hydra."

At the soft hissing noise, Steve looked towards the ceiling, heart sinking when he saw white vapor coming through the air vents. He didn't know what it was, but odds were good it wouldn't be beneficial to his health.

"Cap—n? Can…hear…?"

Steve covered his mouth and nose, already coughing at whatever it was that was being pumped into the room. He threw himself at the wall, then the door, then another wall, trying to find a weak spot and break through. Nothing worked.

"Coulson," he gagged and fell to his knees. "Gas. They're filling…the room with gas." He couldn't stop coughing as he fell forward onto his hands. "Can't…can't breathe."

"Hold…! Help…soon."

Steve wheezed, shaking his head against the black dots filling his vision. "Can't…breathe. Coul…Coulson…"

"Cap…!"

Collapsing on his side, he couldn't help but give in to the encroaching darkness.

_Steve crossed his arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter. Shaking his head, he said, "I just don't think it's a good idea. It's our right to keep our identities a secret. If we want to, we can come out, like you did. But think about it—knowing our alter egos puts those we care about at risk. It makes them a target; it makes them leverage."_

" _You don't need to convince me," Tony said, holding his hands up. "I learned my lesson when I told the Mandarin where I lived. I put Pepper at risk, and I…I won't forgive myself for that," he said, shaking his head._

_Steve bumped his shoulder against his friend's, offering wordless support. "Still," he continued with a sigh, "if it continues like I think it will, we're not going to have much of a choice."_

" _There's always a choice, Cap," Tony replied, lowering his chin at Steve and giving him a meaningful look. Steve shifted his weight, and Tony clapped his hand on his shoulder before he moved to the coffee maker. "I've got your back, Steve. Whatever you decide to do."_

His shoulders were killing him. So were his ankles. Actually, his whole body felt as if he'd been stretched, and he found his breathing labored in a way that reminded him of when he'd had asthma.

Prying his eyes open, he stared down at his ankles, feeling his eyebrows curl when he saw his feet weren't on the ground. Wrapped in chains, his feet were hovering a good six inches from the floor. Well…that didn't make sense at all. He let his head fall back so he could look up and then made a noise of comprehension. He was hanging from the  _ceiling._

He shook his head carefully, trying to clear the fog that was making him loopy. A quick twist proved he was not only stretched a little too much to be comfortable, but the chains weren't going to break, either.

"I apologize for the gas, Captain," Schmidt said, stepping out of the shadows to stand in front of Steve. "Your mind will clear momentarily."

He continued to stand in front of Steve, but said nothing else. Steve had a feeling he was supposed to say something, a feeling that grew when the silence stretched. For the life of him, though, he couldn't  _think._ He pressed his lips together and then brightened considerably as he figured out what to say. "I don't accept your apology!" he exclaimed proudly.

Schmidt cocked his head at the response and tsked in disdain. He pulled his hand back and lashed out, his fist burying into Steve's gut. Groaning at the hit and trying to curl into himself, something the chains wouldn't allow, he found the pain and the adrenaline that spiked at the punch enough to clear his mind.

"What do you want, Schmidt?" he asked.

"Only you, Captain," the Red Skull smiled. "Only you."

Schmidt, being the scientist he was, started off with a few creations of his own that left Steve biting back whimpers as the poisons raced through his veins. He moved on to more physical methods next. Steve didn't cry out at the first crack of the whip, but he did after the eighteenth as Schmidt put every bit of the strength the serum had given him into each strike.

Another lash, but this time, the whip wrapped around his throat, and Steve choked.

"You're going to want to let go of him now."

Schmidt gave a short laugh. "I think not."

"You're also," the voice continued, "going to want to get a better security system, because as soon as I was in range, it literally took me five minutes to override it, and for a villain of your stature, that is, to be honest, pitiful."

"Iron Man," the scientist greeted.

"And Hawkeye," Iron Man filled in. "He doesn't usually say much to bad guys; he prefers to look badass with his bow and arrow, which he pulls off pretty well. There's also Black Widow, who's poised to do something very painful to you right now; I wouldn't take another step backwards. There's an angry agent yelling threats in our ears that are meant for you—something about a taser, and let me tell you…that taser is one of the worst things he can hit you with. Trust me. And someone else…who am I forgetting?"

"T…Tony…" Steve gasped, and Schmidt pulled the whip tighter. He broke off, choking, his vision growing dim.

At the enraged roar of the Hulk, whose entrance in the room was breaking down the wall across from Steve, Tony said, "Oh, yes. How silly of me. The Hulk. I'd let Captain America go right now, if I were you."

Steve's vision was going black, but he could still hear the whine of repulsors as Iron Man backed up his demand with a threat, and then something that sounded like a rumble of thunder in the distance.

"Oh look, Thor's coming.  _Let him go. Now,"_ Tony ordered, and Schmidt finally let the whip go.

Steve coughed, his body trembling as his chest heaved. The voices of his team washed over him, and he felt at home for the first time since he and Tony had squared off on the battlefield against each other.

"Hey, buddy," came Tony's soft voice, and Steve opened his eyes to see his former best friend's face hovering near his. "We've got you. I've got you. I'm going to get you out of these chains, and then we're going to get Bruce to look you over, okay?"

Stunned by the turn of events, Steve simply looked at him. "You…you came?" he finally asked, voice hoarse, and Tony's face twisted in an expression Steve was too tired to decipher.

"Yeah, Cap. We all did."

"I don't…understand…" he whispered, and Tony lowered his head for one short moment before he shook his head and started to cut through the chains binding Steve with one of the lasers on his suit.

"I know. And I'm going to fix that. I promise." Brown eyes met blue a split second before the chains gave way, and Steve fell. Tony went to catch him, armored hands wrapping around a back that had been mangled. It was too much, and Steve finally let go.

It didn't matter, though. Whatever happened next, his team, his  _whole_  team, was watching out for him.


	2. Chapter 2

Awake for what felt like the first time in several days, Steve stared out at a view of New York City that was familiar to him. He looked around in confusion at his old room in the Tower, his breath hitching in pain as he tried to push himself up. No one crowded his bedside, but he could hear murmured voices coming from nearby. Concentrating, he was able to recognize his team—Clint and Natasha, Bruce, Coulson, Thor, and Tony.

"It's not that easy," Clint was saying, but Tony cut him off.

"It could be."

The comment made the other members exclaim loudly, and he winced, losing the thread of the conversation. Looking back up at the ceiling, he swallowed, licked his lips, and said, "Hello, JARVIS."

"Hello, Captain. It's good to see you again," the AI answered, British accent crisp and filled with a warmth that took Steve by surprise. He'd assumed, after everything, the AI wouldn't be happy to see him. "Ah, yes," JARVIS said, and Steve could pick out a slight stiffness that he attributed to uncomfortableness. "I believe I owe you an apology, on behalf of both myself and my master, though I am sure Mr. Stark will continue to apologize in his own way. We failed to protect you when you most needed it, after you surrendered. I am sorry, Captain."

"I…appreciate that," Steve said, voice cracking from dryness. He slowly reached out for the bottle of water on his bedside table, drinking gratefully and trying to ignore how his arms trembled.

"We should have known. I should have known. And in the interest of full disclosure," the AI continued after a few moments of silence, "I am sorry for some of the tactics sir and I chose during the course of The War."

"You and me both, JARVIS," he said softly. Then, thinking over his words, he clarified, "I am not proud of some of my actions, either." He slowly pushed himself up again, braced for the pain.

"You should not attempt to move yet, Captain. You are not fully healed."

Mouth twisted in discomfort, he didn't reply until he'd managed to sit up straight. "I don't … As grateful as I am, I'm not sure…" he trailed off, not certain how to say what he was thinking. How he was unsure of his welcome in Stark's tower; how he wasn't sure he should even stay past waking up. How he was confused he'd woken up in his old room in Tony's building. How, even though his first impressions had been of home and comfort when he'd seen his surroundings, he wasn't sure the building or Tony would ever truly make him feel at home or like he was part of a family again.

"Captain, letting you be hurt was one of sir's biggest regret—"

"That's enough, JARVIS," Tony said, and Steve turned to look at Tony as JARVIS gave a, "Yes, sir."

There were dark circles around Tony's eyes, Steve noticed, as the billionaire clasped his hands behind his back and took a few steps into Steve's room. "You shouldn't be moving yet."

"I…have to go. Where…where are the others?" he stuttered.

Tony took another step forward, gesturing to the water bottle at Steve's wrecked voice. "They've dispersed to their rooms for the moment," he finally said, and Steve's eyes snapped back up to meet his.

"They're staying here?"

The other man's smile was grim. "For now. As should you."

"I can't."

Tony held up a hand to stop him. "Stay," he said simply.

"Tony," Steve started to protest, and Stark shook his head.

"Stay until you're completely healed. This floor is still yours, Steve."

He shifted on the bed in surprise, though he hadn't missed how the bedroom he'd woken up in hadn't changed from how he'd left it when The War started.

"Just…Schmidt did a number on you—you were screwed up. You're still screwed up. He tore your back to the bone in more than one place, and it hasn't healed yet. So stay. I don't want anything from you; this is not me telling you you'll owe me a favor in the future. This is not me trying to 'own' the team," he emphasized the word, and Steve realized what part of the conversation was he had overheard between Tony and the others. "This is the right thing to do, okay? This is sanctuary."

Tony looked so earnest and so nervous, and when Steve failed to find a hint of cockiness or deception in his voice or on his face, he found himself hesitantly accepting Tony's offer. Tony was right—he really needed more time to heal—and if the man was going to offer him a safe place, then he was going to take it.

…

_S.H.I.E.L.D. Pushes Congress to Repeal Superhuman Registration Act_

_In a move that came as a surprise to Congress, not to mention the American public, S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Tony Stark personally stood in front of Congress to lobby for the repeal of the Superhuman Registration Act (SRA) a little over three years after the act was put into effect. The SRA was passed after The War…_

"What is this?" Steve asked quietly, pushing the paper across the counter to Tony. He'd finally made it out of bed and was planning on making his breakfast when Tony had appeared and handed him the newspaper. Steve had read it three times before he asked for confirmation on what he  _thought_ he had just read.

"Exactly what it says. S.H.I.E.L.D. is working to repeal the act." Tony pushed the paper back towards Steve and turned to leave.

He stopped at Steve's question, a "Why?" that had come out choked and softer than he'd intended. "Why now?"

Steve saw Tony's shoulders tense at the question, the other man running his hands through his hair before he turned and strode back towards Steve. "Because I couldn't do it earlier. Because it should be our choice—it should have always been our choice. Because it's the right thing to do. Pick one, any one," he said with a self-deprecating smirk. "They're all true."

Resting his hand on top of the newspaper, Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, then, Director. What can I do to help?"

Keeping his eyes down, he felt, more than saw, Tony's surprise at the title. The other man laughed and leaned on the counter across from Steve. "Of course you finally call me by my proper title  _after_ I give the position up."

"What?" Steve looked up to Tony, who nodded.

"Well, it hasn't been released to the public yet, but technically, I stepped down to second-in-command, with the condition that I continue to lead the annulling of the SRA with the help of Captain America. If you agree. And that Coulson steps up to the position he was born for."

Shocked, Steve found himself searching for a response. "Well, that's…that's something," he finally said, tapping his fingers against the counter.

Tony hummed, eyebrow quirking. "What do you say?" He kept his voice carefully neutral, but Steve knew he was wondering whether Steve was willing to let some of their issues go to work with him, was wondering if they  _would_ be able to work together despite their rift.

Steve didn't know. That was what he had wanted, when he and Tony found themselves on opposite sides of the fence after Tony changed his mind. He and Tony had made a good team for years, on and off the battlefield. Good team, great partners, best friends, family.

The betrayals ran deep. From  _both_ sides, Steve wouldn't shy away from that truth. They had both been played; they had both made their own decisions. What Steve had done to Tony's suit had made the man vulnerable and ripped away every mask and self-defense mechanism Tony had ever had. He'd also refused to listen during what he now believed was Tony's effort to reach out.

What Tony did had destroyed Steve.

He still wasn't okay.

"This doesn't… This doesn't fix everything," Steve said, when silence had stretched between the two of them, both a confirmation they  _could_ work together, even as it was a warning for the other man. "I did things that I wasn't proud of during The War, things that hurt you. I know I did. But I'm having a little difficulty letting go of what happened in the end." He leaned against the counter, head hanging low between his shoulders.

"You had me arrested. You had me arrested and threw me in that prison to be…I was brainwashed," he said, and Tony swore.

"Would you call it for what it was? You were being  _tortured,_ Steve. I let you stay in prison where you were being  _tortured."_ Tony gripped the top of his arms and squeezed. " _I_ let you get tortured. God, Steve, I didn't know, but that doesn't make it any better, and I am so freaking sorry. I am, but you have to realize you were  _tortured,_ or you won't be able to get over it. It was  _wrong,_ Steve.  _You were tort_ —"

"I KNOW! Okay?! I  _know!"_ Steve burst out, shoving away from the counter to pace angrily. _"_ They dug their knives into me and pulled the noose tight and whipped me until I was almost dead, and that was just a warm-up for them! I know what they did, Tony! And  _you put me there!"_

Steve swept his arms across the countertop, sending the bowl of fruit and a jumble of clutter to the ground. The newspaper that offered them a new start with Tony's announcement fluttered down to land lightly on the top of the mess. "The person I trusted with my life betrayed me so badly that I… And I can't… I don't…" He shook his head and started to pace again.

"I will  _never_ forgive myself for what happened to you," Tony said, voice low and fervent. "And I know that's only the tip of the iceberg, because I am directly responsible for your arrest and the time you spent under the thumb of those sadistic monsters and your death. Steve," he reached out to grasp Steve on the arm again when he passed by, but pulled back before he could touch him. "I am sorry. I know you can't forgive me now for any of that; I know you might never forgive me. But I will do everything in my power to make up for it."

"I don't know if you can," Steve bit off, his arms shaking as he fought to keep himself from lashing out again.

"I know you feel that way. I know," Tony said, his eyes falling shut for a few short moments. "I understand, I do, but you were my best friend," he said, half of his mouth pulled up in a sad smile. "You were my best friend, and I know I don't have any right to, but I want us to be that way again."

It was  _too much_. He was asking for too much, too soon.

Shoulders trembling, Steve fought to keep the moisture filling his eyes from falling. It was a sign of weakness, and while before The War he could have trusted Tony to only tease him and not use it against him, Steve didn't know that now. He couldn't afford to show Tony any chink in his armor beyond what he had already done when he lost control and told Tony a little of what he had faced in the prison. But then, that was also a small sign of trust, wasn't it?

He'd told Tony something the man could use against him in the future, a way to bring up memories of horror and agony to incapacitate him, or another way to coerce him into working for the billionaire. He'd trusted him with that—unwittingly, yes, yet he'd trusted him all the same.

"I told you this before, but as soon as I found out what was happening to you, I pulled you out. I put you with people I trusted, and I know it was pretty much solitary confinement, but it was the best place where  _I could keep you safe._  You were safe, and you could heal. It was too little, too late, but I got you the best doctors, I provided you with my lawyers for your trial, and I threw those guards into the deepest, darkest hole I could find."

And Steve vaguely remembered the doctors, because he hadn't been well at all that last week, his tormentors pushing him beyond his limits in a frenzied desperation, and things had slipped by him as he fought to survive. The doctors had been gentle with him, careful, and their touch had brought relief from the pain. Enough that he could finally begin to heal. At the time, he'd assumed it was because they didn't want the things he'd suffered to be broadcasted to the world at his trial, but now, with Tony's words, their presence meant something different.

He didn't question whether the other man was telling the truth. He knew.

"You never came. I know I wasn't allowed visitors, but you could have come. When you found out what happened. You were the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. But you didn't."

The unasked question hung in the air, and Tony nodded slowly. "I couldn't. I… There was so much happening at that time—I was trying to flush out the rest of Red Skull's spies, and their reach was… Steve, the whole organization was compromised. Plus, let's be honest. You wouldn't have wanted to see me. My presence would have put your healing at risk." Sarcasm and hurt and honesty all blended in those last two miserable sentences, and Steve felt sympathy stir, if only just a little.

"I need to apologize," he said abruptly. He took a deep breath, absently noting Tony's surprise. "For what I did to you during The War," he explained. "Your Iron Man suit is an extension of you and by damaging that, I know that was a personal attack. And I'm realizing, the more I find out from you and the others, that we may have been the leaders of both sides, but we were really nothing more than Hydra's pawns."

Tony shook his head, crossing his arms as he leaned his hip against the counter. "You don't need to apologize for anything, but if it makes you feel better, I'll accept it all the same."

Steve nodded, swallowing as he looked away. Tony bent over and picked up the bowl and fruit that littered the floor from Steve's outburst. The newspaper he placed in front of Steve. He drummed his fingers against the counter and then nodded to himself. "I, uh…I'll leave you to it. Breakfast, I mean. I didn't mean to interrupt for so long."

His old friend was being awkward and open and serious in a way he had very rarely ever been, but Steve didn't have anything left to give him. Not now. Not with what had just occurred. When Tony was leaving the room, however, Steve found the next words falling out of his mouth with little thought and real meaning.

"Tony…" he waited until the other man paused again. "Thank you."

Tony turned back a little to stare at him, and Steve tapped the newspaper once, twice, again, and Tony tilted his head to the side. "Don't thank me, Steve. It's something I wish could have been done from the start."

With that, the other man left the room, and Steve sank down on the stool to read over the article another time.

…

"Captain Rogers?"

Steve started at JARVIS' voice. "Uh, yes? _"_

"I realize this may be an imposition, but would you mind doing me a favor?" The AI's voice was hesitant, and Steve's eyebrows furrowed.

"What's wrong?"

"Sir is showing signs of an impending collapse."

Steve was moving before he even thought about it, only a lingering stiffness in his body from his injuries at Schmidt's hands. "Where is he?"

"In his workshop." There was a moment of silence, and then the AI added, "He hasn't been out in five days, hasn't slept in three, and he has not eaten in two."

Steve swore, moving to the elevator faster.

"My thanks, Captain. He hasn't listened to my encouragement to take a break."

"It's fine, JARVIS," he said, clenching his hands as he stepped onto the lift and waited for it to take him to the right floor. "What's the code to get in the workshop?" he asked as he stalked to the door.

"Sir reinstated your previous password when he found out you were alive."

"Idiot," Steve breathed. "What if I'd wanted revenge?" It was a rhetorical question, but JARVIS answered anyways.

"I believe sir's exact words, when I brought up the highly unlikely possibility, was, 'It's Steve. He won't go that far, and I'm pretty sure I'd deserve whatever punishment he decided to give me anyways.'"

" _Idiot,"_ he emphasized. He punched the numbers into the keypad by the door, ignoring the loud rock music that greeted him when it slid open and he walked inside.

Tony was working at a large table, his movements uncoordinated and words slurring as he talked to his 'bots. Dum-E was the first to recognize him, its claw opening and closing quickly and its mechanical body wiggling in a way that reminded Steve of a happy dog.

"What are you so excited about?" Tony questioned, leaning heavily on his elbows. "You only got that excited when Steve visi—" Tony cut himself off and spun around on his chair, almost falling out of it in the process as he caught sight of Steve striding towards him. Steve saw his surprise, and then another expression that made his stomach clench, especially in light of JARVIS' enlightenment—fear. Tony hid it quickly, though, settling on confusion. "Steve? What are you doing down here?"

Steve had slowed his pace when he realized he'd scared the other man and stopped a few feet from him. Dum-E whirred to his side quickly, and he grinned as he patted the robot on its arm. "Hey, Dum-E. Been a while, huh, buddy?"

He saw Tony relax at the sight, and he looked back at him with concern. "You look like crap."

That startled a laugh out of Stark, the sound wild at the edges. "It's the look of genius at work," he said, spinning back around to start his tinkering again.

"Genius? Or guilt?"

Tony's hands stilled at the words, but only for a moment. "Either, both. Take your pick." He shrugged and didn't turn when Steve walked closer, though he did grow tenser the closer Steve got. Out of fear or discomfort, he didn't know.

"What are you working on?" The question slipped out before he could stop himself, old familiarity making him homesick for the way things used to be.

Tony tilted his head, and Steve didn't need to see his face to know he was confused. "I don't…know…"

Steve snorted in amusement, and Tony turned his head to blink at him owlishly. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his hands trembled with exhaustion, and Steve felt his heart soften. "C'mon, Stark. Up you go," he said softly, pulling his old friend to his feet and shuffling him from the room before Tony was able to protest.

He was well versed in handling Stark, the other man taking refuge in the 'shop for too long a time period without proper food or rest when missions had gone to Hell in a handbasket, when he was stressed, or when he and Pepper or he and the team argued. It wasn't a ploy for attention—which was why Steve found it so easy to be compassionate towards the man now. It was only how Stark attempted to work through whatever issue he was facing.

His objections were half-hearted, truly exhausted, his struggles weak from lack of sustenance, and Steve ignored them all as he pulled Tony to the elevator and told JARVIS to take them to Steve's floor. The other man was surprised at the order, falling quiet for the rest of the journey and staring curiously at Steve as he steered him out of the lift and to the couch in his living room.

"Sit," he said, pushing the billionaire down, and Tony sat without protest. "Lay down," he added, grabbing a throw from the back of the couch and waiting until the other man had listened to him and stretched out. The expression on his normally guarded face when Steve laid the blanket over him was full of regret before Tony shut his eyes and turned his face towards the back of the couch and out of Steve's sight.

Feeling the same sense of loss, Steve quietly walked away and into his kitchen, pulling out eggs and sausage and everything he'd need to make pancakes. The rest of the team began showing up a short time later, one at a time. The tradition of Steve making breakfast for the team had restarted a few days prior, once he had felt recovered enough.

About the same time, apparently, that Tony had made his way to the workshop to work himself to a collapse.

They all paused as they caught sight of Tony sleeping on the couch, and then continued to the kitchen, movements quieter and voices subdued as they greeted each other. Soon enough, a pleasant conversation had started, the old teammates chatting and good-naturedly teasing each other. They kept it down, in consideration of Stark, but he still woke—either because of them talking or the smell of food.

Steve didn't turn to him when he slowly poked his head above the couch, letting him get his bearings. He almost spoke when Tony stood and tried to sneak out of the room, shoulders slumped, but with a quick look at Steve to make sure it was okay, Clint spoke first.

"Going somewhere, Stark?"

The other man froze, halfway to the elevator, and now his shoulders were up near his ears.

"Because there are still some pancakes left, despite Thor's attempts to annihilate them," he continued.

"They are delicious," Thor rumbled. "I cannot help myself."

Natasha added to the conversation by kicking the empty chair across from her out from beneath the table. It was an invitation Tony took in with raised eyebrows once he turned his head a little and glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.

"Would be a shame to let them go to waste," Bruce said lightly, and Steve's pride in his former team grew tenfold.

Tony hesitated a moment more, and then he spun on his heel to join them in the kitchen. He'd gotten maybe two hours of sleep, not anywhere near enough after three days awake, and his movements were still unsteady, his hands still shaking.

Steve grabbed a plate and piled some eggs on it, passing it to Natasha, who added a few sausages, and then to Coulson, who put a small stack of pancakes on the plate. He handed it to Bruce, who slid the plate in front of Tony as he sat down. Stark stared at it for a few moments and then sighed as he picked up some silverware and started to dig in, darting glances at them as their conversation slowly started up around him.

Half a plate in, and Tony's blinks were growing longer and longer, body slumping in the chair. His fork and knife were in imminent danger of being dropped on the floor.

"Excuse me," JARVIS spoke, and Tony jerked upright, blinking quickly at the team around the table and then up at the ceiling.

"JARVIS?"

"I apologize, but there's a Code 217."

Steve frowned; a Code 217 meant a prisoner had escaped.

Tony's head bowed, and he swore, voice low and hoarse. He dropped his silverware on the table and rubbed his face vigorously. Pushing away from the table, he stood with Coulson and asked, "Where? Who?" He stumbled as he walked away, hand automatically falling on Steve's shoulder, the closest thing he could use to balance himself.

"The Cage, sir. It's the Red Skull."

Steve stiffened, and Tony's hand spasmed, something desperate in the tight grip. In the next instant, Tony was running from the room, steadier than he had been, and the team wasn't far behind him.

"Suit up!" Steve yelled to the whole team. "We'll meet on the roof!"

"You're not going, Cap!" Tony turned, grasping Steve's arm with another tight grip.

"The hell I'm not!" he spit back, and Tony shook his head.

"You're still healing, and I'm not—" he ignored Steve's protest, "I'm  _not_ going to lose you again!"

They came to a stop in front of the elevators, which didn't open despite the cheery  _ding_ that heralded its arrival on the floor. The team hesitated behind them for a few moments until either deciding the stairs would be quicker or attempting to give the two men the space they needed. Shadows haunted the billionaire's eyes; his skin stretched thin and tight over cheekbones. There was guilt in his expression and determination. Anger, too, but Steve knew it wasn't at him.

"That…"  _abomination, monster, "_ man _,"_ Steve finally decided on, "is responsible for me losing almost 70 years of my life. He tortured me, and you're right, I'm still not healed. Not completely. But I'm good enough to go after him. I have my team with me this time." He clenched his jaw, debating the merit of his next words. Deciding it was worth it, he added, " _All_ of my team."

Tony caught his meaning, eyes widening slightly and the shadows lightening. He nodded once, and the elevator opened for the two of them to step on. Steve wasn't ready to let go of everything that had happened to him, wasn't ready to forgive Tony for what he'd gone through—though he believed Tony truly hadn't known what had been happening to him in that prison and that he had done what he could to protect and help Steve heal.

He couldn't blame the man for what had not been under his control. He'd inherited a dirty, broken system, and he'd cleaned it up.

Would Steve have done the same, if their situations were reversed? Would he have sent Tony to prison? He didn't think so— _Tony was his best friend_ —and he'd been there for a _year!_

"How long did it take for you to believe I was the bad guy? That I would do those things?" Steve asked quietly as the elevator zoomed up to the floor where the team kept their uniforms. He'd done his research while he was at the tower; he'd seen the timeline of events and where Hydra had put their dirty fingers in the pot to soil both Steve and Tony.

The acts of war Steve had been framed for were betrayals of all he had stood for. All he stood for.

A bitter chuckle, and then Tony answered, "I never truly believed you were anything but a good guy. Eventually, there was more evidence than I could brush aside or prove incorrect by simply saying,  _'It's Steve.'_  I verified things on my own, but JARVIS and I…our systems were compromised, too. It confirmed the reports I'd been given."

So not only had they both been fighting for what they thought was right, but they'd been fighting to stop a person they'd believed had gone off the deep end. Steve's own reports of Tony at the time had not been favorable, either.

He should have known when they were fighting. He should have known Tony's limits wouldn't have bent or broken like Steve had assumed. The door opened, and Steve, angry that his friend and his friend's AI had been so compromised, took a deep breath to steady himself.

"I'm going to suit up," Steve said. "We'll meet on the roof. And then we'll finish this conversation afterwards, deal?"

Tony nodded, and Steve met Tony's eyes for one quick moment before he ran off to don his suit.

…

"There's something you should see." Bruce adjusted his glasses and then crossed his arms, standing in the entrance to Steve's kitchen.

The promised talk between him and Tony was on hold for the moment, as the other man was still recovering from the fight and the lack of sleep. Steve, meanwhile, was anxious. He couldn't sit still, and despite the fatigue from the fight, he wanted nothing more than to go down to the gym and destroy a few punching bags or go for a run around the city. He'd settled for making something to eat, but all interest in the food left him at Bruce's statement.

"And that would be?" he asked, mirroring the doctor's pose as he leaned back against his counter.

Bruce adjusted his glasses again, and Steve realized the other man was nervous. "Your bike's in the garage. Tony…he found it and brought it back here. Restored it—it had seen better days." Bruce's eyebrows quirked.

At the news, Steve perked up. He hadn't seen his bike in  _years._ Taking a ride would do wonders in helping to relieve his anxiousness.

"I thought that might catch your attention," Bruce said with a slight smile. His expression grew serious again, and he held out a slip of paper for Steve to take.

The address on it made Steve's breath catch. "No," he said, voice hoarse. "I'm never going back there." Jaw working, he glared at the other man. "Why—?"

Bruce held up a hand, "Wait, please. Tony, he told me he threatened you a few times, to work with him, right? Threatened to put you back in the prison?"

Steve nodded once, paper crumpling as his hands balled into fists.

"I know you don't want to," Bruce said quietly, "but you need to go to that address. Before you and Tony have that talk."

"Why?" he growled.

"You'll see when you get there."

"Bruce—"

"Trust me, Steve." Bruce smiled, and the sight made Steve take a deep breath and release it slowly. Bruce was not a cruel man. Whatever it was the scientist wanted him to see, he did not intend for it to be harmful to Steve.

Bruce waited for Steve to respond, which Steve, who had lowered his eyes to the ground as he thought, finally did. He nodded and looked back up, noting the way Bruce's shoulders relaxed in something like relief.

"Good," he said with a slight smile. "Good."

…

The closer he got to the destination, the tenser he became. He was still too jagged on the edges from The War and his death. Despite having a chance to reconnect with his team the last few weeks, there was one part of his former life that ripped and tore and scratched at the pieces he'd managed to cobble back together.

He didn't know if he could truly forgive Tony for what had happened. For that matter, Tony may have said Steve had nothing to apologize for, but those were nothing but words. Steve had done his own betraying of the trust that lay between them, and he was having a hard time forgiving himself for what he'd done.

They had been  _pawns._ Pieces on a chessboard Hydra and A.I.M. and S.H.I.E.L.D. had used and abused, but that didn't make it any better. It didn't matter that they'd both been fed information that was false. It didn't matter. They should have known.  _They had been best friends._

Steve should have bridged the gap. He'd offered to work with Tony when he changed his mind, offered to reach a compromise so that both sides were appeased. Tony had, for some reason Steve still didn't know, cut him off, cut him out. Until that time when Tony had asked for them to meet at his parents' old mansion. He'd been trying to say something then, but so much had happened by that point, Steve had not been able to listen to him. His failure. Who knows what they could have done if Steve had been able to  _listen?_

He rolled his shoulders as he took the final turn, his musings not helping to keep him calm. What he saw, however, when he approached the place Bruce had told him to visit, the place where he'd been held a prisoner, stunned him. Pulling his bike over to the side at the end of the long drive, he swung his leg over the seat and walked slowly to the gates that had once been barbed wire and electrified.

It was now a wrought iron fence, beautiful and stately. The grounds behind (gray concrete, bars, a building that was fortified to withstand superpowers and his own super strength, guards every several feet, and a penetrating sense of helplessness and loss and hopelessness) were now rolling fields of green grass and trees, gardens, and long stretches of flowers. There were well-kept paths among the park, and benches and fountains dotted the landscape.

It was beautiful.

He staggered forward a step, reaching out to grab onto the fence before his legs gave out. This wasn't...it wasn't…

There was a plaque on the fence that read:

_The Steven G. Rogers Memorial Garden_

_On May 17, 2016, Captain Rogers (also known as Captain America) was imprisoned at this location. He had fought bravely for his side in The War and chose to surrender when the city of New York was in danger of being destroyed and his friends' and comrades' lives were on the line. He was assassinated on the way to his trial a year after his surrender._

_He was a brave man and a noble and loyal leader. In his honor, the prison was destroyed and the grounds were remade into a memorial garden for all to visit._

At the bottom of the plaque, it was signed  _The Maria Stark Foundation._

Steve's breath came out in a harsh gasp. His grip on the fence was the only thing keeping him standing. Tony had done this.  _Tony_ had done this. It was in every word on the plaque, in the very offering of the park itself. Who did that? Who decommissioned a prison and turned it into a memorial garden to honor a man he'd fought against?

" _You help, or that little prison cell you got used to will be your home again."_  Who threatened to throw that same man back into said prison, when it had been destroyed and no longer existed?

He sucked in a deep breath and wiped his face, unsurprised his hand came away wet. Forcing his legs to steady, he walked slowly through the gate. The breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, set the flowers to swaying. The sun was warm on his skin, and he lifted his face to it, taking another deep breath and letting it fill his whole body.

Bird chittering and the burble of water fountains provided a soothing backdrop of noise. There were no traffic sounds, not this far from the road. He could hear wind chimes gently playing in the near distance.

It was peaceful.

The last time he'd been here, he'd been a prisoner and tortured.

His fingers were trembling; his whole body was shaking. He stumbled to a nearby bench and collapsed heavily on it. This was...surreal. Seeing a place he hated and that he had suffered in be something else, something beautiful and peaceful… Seeing it be something meant to  _honor_ him instead of contain and punish him, was  _surreal_.

Children's voices drifted towards him, laughter and shouts that were quickly calmed by the loud, patient sound of an adult. He looked up, spying what looked to be a group on a field trip as they walked through the gates.

"Alright, little ones! Listen up! This is the Steven G. Rogers Memorial Garden. Can anyone tell me who Steven Rogers was?"

Hands shot in the air, small voices piping up with excitement. "I know, I know, I know!" called the smallest one in the group, a little waif with dark brown hair and a grin that stretched across his face. Steve couldn't help but smile a little at the sight.

The teacher called on him, and the boy bounced on his toes in his excitement. "He's Captain America! He's the strongest man alive! Well…" the boy trailed off, shoulders slumping and frown replacing his grin. "He was. He's not alive anymore." The whole class seemed to deflate at his words.

The teacher leaned closer to his students. "Do you want to know a secret?" At the heads bobbing up and down, the teacher smiled. "I think Captain America is still alive. Somehow, someway...he'll come back to us."

The little one who had answered the teacher's earlier question found his smile, and so, too, did the other students. "You really think so?" he asked, eyes wide.

"I do," the teacher answered solemnly, and then he straightened and clapped his hands. "Alright, kiddos, we're here to study...what again?"

"Sally Babylonious!" one exclaimed, and the teacher laughed.

"You were  _so_ close, Audrey. A Salix babylonica, otherwise known as…"

"Weeping willows!" the class yelled. The teacher launched into his lecture on the trees and their characteristics, taking the class down a path that led away from where Steve sat.

Once they were out of sight, Steve bowed his head and wept.

...

It was supposed to be his cabin. He could see the way the colors would have melded together, the way the shadows from the trees would have reached his temporary home, except for the slash of sunlight he was going to have filter through the branches and illuminate the cabin. He could see it. Every stroke, every brush of paint, it was all there in his mind's eye.

That wasn't what he painted.

The 9'x5' canvas he finally picked up from his favorite art store instead became a swirling cacophony of bright colors—purple for Clint and black and red for Natasha. There were different shades of green for Bruce, from the jarringly bright for Hulk to the soothing color of sage for the man. Gray and stormy blue for Thor. Bright white, cherry red, and sapphire blue for his own colors.

Hotrod red and gold for Tony.

Wiping his hands on a rag, he cast a critical eye over the piece, puzzled over how the red and gold seemed to mix between all of the colors, as if tying them together. They clashed pretty spectacularly with the other colors, at times, but there was no denying their cohesiveness. He hadn't planned this work; he'd simply let his mind go and painted. Curious, what his subconscious had decided to bring to the front of his mind.

"You've decided, then."

He turned to Natasha, surprised to see she'd made herself at home on a couch behind him and he hadn't even noticed. He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly as he thought her question through. "I think I have."

"You're a better person than I am. I wouldn't forgive him."

Twisting his lips together, he crossed his arms and cocked his head at her. "That's not true. Either part," he said with a little smile.

"He killed you."

"Crossbones killed me, under orders from Schmidt."

"He sent you to that prison, where they tortured you every day for a year." She wasn't being mean, wasn't trying to dig up painful memories to wound him. This was her way to check and make sure he'd thought his decision through. He understood it, even as he fought to pull himself away from the memories that surfaced at her words.

All of this time later and he still felt like he could drown from them.

He shook his head as if clearing them away and then forced himself to meet her eyes. "Yes, he did. But he didn't know what they were doing. He stopped them, when he found out."

Her lip curled. "He stole time from you. That whole year. All of the time when you were dead. He unmasked you. He forced you to work for him when you came back."

"And I did some truly horrible things to him, too. 'Tasha, you know I did," he said, when she shook her head. "Besides that, it's not a...not a competition. We both messed up." He looked away and down at his arms. Jaw clenching, he had to take a minute before he could continue. "He destroyed the prison."

Her eyes narrowed at him for a long moment until she said, "Banner told you."

"Banner told me to go there; he didn't tell me what Tony had done." Looking back up, he couldn't help the way surprise colored his voice. "All of that time he threatened to throw me back, it was...it was nothing. An idle threat."

"An idle threat that made you do what he wanted you to."

Steve opened his mouth to say she could have told him herself, not that he held it against her or Hawkeye, who had at least attempted to say something. Natasha never did anything without a reason, and Steve trusted she'd explain what that reason was in good time. Before he could say anything, however, he was interrupted.

"If I hadn't brought Cap back into the world with a mission, he would have stayed in that cabin until the end of time."

Steve swiveled on his stool to see Tony in the doorway, looking distinctly uncomfortable and still exhausted.

"Maybe I went about it the wrong way, but you weren't living, Cap. Existing, yes. Living, no."

"You were the last person who should have been bringing him back into the world," Natasha said. She kept her face blank, but he and Tony were her teammates. They had been her family for years. They knew she was livid.

Bowing his head, Tony sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Yeah, probably," he said, looking down and away from them.

Tony's arrival had taken Steve so by surprise, he found himself at a loss for words. The other man was moments away from leaving, Steve could tell by the way he fidgeted in the doorway, and so he said the first thing that came to mind.

"I liked that cabin. It took me a while to bring it back to its former glory, but it was nice. Calm and peaceful."

"Its former glory was a hunting shack," Tony said with a snort. "I'm not even sure there was a bathroom in that place. Also, I had to hike. Through the woods. With dress shoes on. Just to reach it."

Steve's lips twitched before he carefully schooled his face. "I hope it hurt."

"I still have a blister."

"Did it get infected?"

"I almost lost a toe!"

Steve couldn't help it; he chuckled.

There was a heavy sigh from the vent above Natasha, who didn't seem surprised by the noise. "I guess this means we're moving back in for good, doesn't it?" came Clint's long-suffering voice, slightly distorted from where he was hidden.

"It certainly appears so." Natasha almost looked amused. On her way out of the room, she stopped in front of Tony and stared at him for several long seconds. Steve watched, curious. "You need to tell him why you switched sides."

Tony took a deep breath and nodded at her. She patted his shoulder on her way out, and Steve's eyebrows rose at her conflicting interactions with him. Where before she was angry, now she was compassionate, and Steve watched as Tony's shoulders lost a little of their tension.

Tony had always fought for his teammates' respect. He'd had it, pretty much from the start, but he'd always  _felt_ like he had to fight for it. They'd been family in the end, though. A family that shielded and supported.  _Tony_ had had a family that was more than Pepper and Rhodey and his 'bots.

He'd lost his family when he supported the SRA. Steve simply couldn't see that as having been an easy choice or one that he made lightly. Natasha was right—Steve had not had a real reason for Tony's decision. To move on, he needed to know.

Rubbing his hands against his pants, Steve watched as Tony fidgeted in the doorway again. "You want to sit?" he asked, gesturing to the couch Natasha had vacated.

"Yeah. That would be...yes." He slunk to the seat, and Steve could tell he was purposefully keeping his body loose and relaxed.

The urge to apologize,  _really_ apologize, was sudden and overwhelming, the words heavy on his tongue and straining to break free. Before he did so, however, he had to hear the rest of the story. Then he could say he was sorry, and they would be in equal standing. No secrets about The War between them for the first time in years.

Tony carded his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. Letting it out in a gusty sigh, he met Steve's eye and started to explain. "The situation wasn't as black and white as we were led to believe."

Steve cocked an eyebrow and rolled his hand to urge Tony to continue.

"The government wasn't going to stop. They weren't going to give us a choice. I-" He rolled his eyes and muttered a curse. "I can't even explain this right; what the hell." He pushed to his feet and started to pace the room in agitation. Steve let him walk and watched him carefully.

"They were going to force all supers to register and be put in a school. Like Professor X's on paper, but more like the government's supermarket for powers. They wanted to train all supers to be soldiers or put in some position related to our defense departments. There was not going to be a choice."

Tony stopped pacing and met Steve's gaze unflinchingly. "There wasn't going to be a choice," he repeated.

Steve blinked once, again. "You mean…"

Tony nodded, pushing his hands into his pockets. "You took the position they wanted you for, or you were arrested, at which point you would go through a 'training program' and come out the other side ready to take the position they wanted you for in the first place. I tried to talk them down, Steve. I did everything I could to change their minds. The best thing I could get them to agree to was the SRA."

Steve shoved his hands through his hair as he stood from the stool. "I can't believe…"

"I never thought it was a good idea," Tony said, expression pleading, voice urgent, "but it was the best I could talk them down to."

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

Tony's smile was brittle. "I tried. That night I asked to meet you at the mansion."

Steve swore and spun away from Tony; his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. He started to pace, a habit he'd picked up from the other man. Tony held himself still in the corner of his eyes, body rigid as he watched Steve. He forced himself to stop, to take a deep breath. He held it for a long moment and then let it out slowly.

"That's not a complete explanation," he said softly, and Tony's lips twitched.

"I couldn't tell you." His voice was flat, and Steve cocked his head.

"What do you mean, you couldn't tell me?" he asked carefully. "We were best friends. I take complete responsibility for the mansion. I should have listened. You were reaching out, and I didn't return the favor. But why not-"

Tony burst out in an explosion of words, his hands flying through the air. "Because I was on such a short leash, I couldn't even talk to Pepper! I couldn't do anything for S.I., couldn't talk to Pep, couldn't talk to  _you._ I was on communication lock-down. They made sure to tell me I was there for one reason only, and if I wasn't  _taking it seriously,_ they didn't need to listen to whatever my rebuttal was! They'd go with their original plan, and we'd all be screwed."

Steve swore again, the word heavy and weighted with all of the repercussions that had been spawned by humans needing to use and control others. The truth stole his energy, and he fell back on the stool.

That made sense. Now, it all made sense. Why Tony had switched sides. Why Tony had been spending so much time in Washington; why he'd pulled away from Steve and the rest of the team. There had been several weeks before the SRA had surfaced and Tony had been linked to a possible plan from the government when he hadn't returned any phone calls or talked to his teammates. Only JARVIS' reassurances that Tony was well had kept them from breaking down the Senate's door to reach him.

"They monitored me the entire time I was there—day and night. Honestly, I was little more than a prisoner, albeit one they couldn't make disappear or abuse, but…" Tony shrugged.

Steve started, "JARVIS—"

"Hacked the camera feeds to make sure I was still alive. There was little he could do. I couldn't…I couldn't let their original legislation go through, Steve. I couldn't. It would have turned into a massacre—worse than The War."

Tony's eyes were wild, and Steve closed his eyes against the sight. He needed to think, and he couldn't do that when faced with that expression. The picture Tony had painted with his words; what his friend had gone through, what the superhuman community would have gone through had Tony failed…

The SRA had been horrible, and yes, there'd been a war. What the original legislation had threatened, however, turned the superhumans into little more than weapons and threatened to "reeducate" them if they disagreed. Tony was right; it would have been a massacre.

They'd been pawns. He and Tony and each superhuman that had squared off against each other— _they'd been nothing but pawns._  And Tony, Tony had been forced into a position he hadn't wanted, had shouldered a world of blame where the supers who had disagreed had blamed him and held him accountable, when he had really given them the best chance to survive.

That didn't excuse what had happened during The War, but it helped.

He blew out a heavy sigh, the silence between them stretching. "I wasn't trying to hide," he finally said, looking down at his hands and then back up at Tony.

Tony's eyes crinkled in sympathy. "Steve, you came back from the dead. You dug yourself from your own grave. I know—I saw the aftermath. You had to hide, so you could pull yourself together and start to heal. There's no shame in that."

Something cracked in Steve's chest at those words, at the  _truth,_ because he  _hadn't_ been trying to hide. Yet that was exactly what he had been doing. He had broken out of his casket and fought his way free of the dirt. He had been wounded and broken from The War, from the loss of his family and friends as they'd been torn apart.

His breath catching, he ran his hands down his face. "Well," he said, stopping to clear his throat. "I'm not hiding anymore."

…

" _He's leading the charge for the SRA."_

_Clint's voice was confused under the blankness, the protective layer too thin when it came to their friend. One could never be impassive around Tony; he inspired emotions so strong that the middle ground simply didn't exist when it came to opinions towards and relationships with. Love or hate, adoration or disgust, gratefulness or irritation. He stirred those emotions in each person he met. Even the public, who had no true interaction with him, felt strongly about him in some way._

" _That's impossible," Steve refuted. The SRA had been proposed days ago, and while it was better than what the government had been suggesting, it was still such an insult to any with powers, such an invasion of privacy and justice to them, it made his skin crawl. He knew, beyond a doubt, that Tony would not—could not—support it. There was no way._

_In answer, Clint shoved a newspaper at him. The words and pictures of Tony leaving the Capital Building blurred together in shock. He looked back up to see Clint staring out of the window, eyes focused on some spot far in the distance, his shoulders tense and fingers twitching as though he were spinning an arrow between them._

" _How?"_

" _I don't know," the archer answered._

_Steve dialed Tony's number before he even realized he had the phone in his hands. His friend hadn't answered the last several times he'd called, however, and he had little hope he would now._

" _Steve."_

_Tony's careful voice made Steve's face contort. "Tony. Is it true? Did you…Do you…?" He couldn't complete the question. There was no way. He shouldn't doubt his friend like this. Steve knew him better than that. "No, I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't-"_

" _Yes." Tony's voice, short and clipped, cut him off._

_Steve found himself gaping for a long moment. That didn't make any sense. "What?"_

" _I'm supporting the SRA. And if you know what's—what's good for you, you'll support it, too. Steve, you need to support it."_

" _I…Tony…" he trailed off, reeling from the confirmation. He felt completely off balance, the bad feeling that had been growing from Tony's radio silence solidifying into something vaguely nightmarish. "I can't. You know I can't._ _You_ _can't, either. I know you don't believe this is the right path-"_

" _It's the only path. You need to support it, Steve."_

_The click of the phone disconnecting left Steve staring at it in shock. He looked up to meet Clint's eyes, the other man looking as disturbed as Steve felt._

" _What the hell?" he breathed, and Steve shook his head in stunned disbelief._

" _I don't know," he said, looking back down at his phone. "I don't know."_

Steve blinked at the screen and then tilted his head, hoping the change in angle would help the images make sense. "Is that a…what is that?"

"I don't know," Tony said slowly, squinting at the screen and also tilting his head.

"It's neon green," Clint said, "and oozing."

Natasha made a derisive noise. "Great. Last time something oozed, it took me hours to get out of my hair."

"Aye. Same here," Thor piped up with gravitas, frowning at the screen.

Steve saw Tony bite back a grin at the words, their eyes meeting briefly, and he had to look away quickly, his own mirth making his lips twitch.

"Iron Man, five seconds," said the handler Coulson had hand-picked for the Avengers.

Tony took a few steps backwards, positioning himself carefully by the hatch. "This is my stop, kids." He saluted as the hatch opened. "See you down there!" he called as he fell backwards.

Thor was next, his infectious smile at the promise of a fight wide and bright. Steve took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, feeling that last piece of himself finally settle back in place as he watched Thor and Tony already engaging the oozing nemesis, while he, Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Hulk prepared to jump in.

He grinned. He was back.  _They_ were back. After everything, they'd all found themselves and their way back to each other. They were finally on the same footing, their bonds solid and unshakeable. They had, Steve thought proudly, come through the fire and become even stronger for it.

"Let's go," he ordered, and he threw himself out of the quinjet.

Seconds later, Tony caught him with a complaint. "Geez, Cap, I thought we had this talk about parachutes and what wonderful inventions they were, and, wonder of wonders, how they'd even been around  _before your time."_

Steve threw his head back in laughter and launched his shield at a nearing clump of oozing bad guy after Tony set him on the ground carefully. "Don't need 'em!" he said as he sprinted away and Tony jetted back up to the sky. "I know you'll catch me!"

He counted down to Tony's reaction.  _Three:_ Tony's mouth would drop in surprise.  _Two_ : sputtering.

"I…you…" Tony said, right on cue.

_One:_ feigned disgust.

"Okay, what's with the feelings? Seriously. No chickflick moments. What the hell…" he grumbled.

Steve smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have some scenes that I cut that didn't fit within this 2 part story. I might post those as separate chapters and fill in more if the muse strikes.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, bookmarked, and given kudos. Your support means so much!


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